Beautiful Addictions (19 page)

Josie lay before Tristan, her skin glowing silvery blue in the moonlight. With her
eyes hooded and her chest rising and falling so quickly, she looked like a beautiful
waiting sacrifice. She was heavenly and entirely his. Here, in the quiet of this room,
beneath the light that shone only for them, she was not damaged, she was faultless
and brilliant.

Lowering himself down, he let the weight of his body press her into the mattress.
He placed soft kisses on her chest and neck, dragging his tongue across her pulse
point. The rapid thumping of her heart kept him grounded, otherwise he felt as though
he might float away.

“Tristan, please,” she begged, pulling up on his shoulders so she could see his face
again.

Josie rocked her hips against him, loving the feel of rough denim against her bare
flesh. Desperate for the heat of his body, she tugged at his shirt until he sat up
and removed it. The planes of his chest were artfully defined by the colorful images
that curved and clung to his muscles.

She let her fingers trace over each pattern before dropping down to the fly of his
jeans. Expertly, Josie slid each button through its hole, while her lips pressed kisses
against his neck. He tasted like salt and adoration.

The muscles and tendons of his shoulders were rigid. Her tongue ran over the stubble
of his jaw and she hummed at the delightful scrape of it against her lips. With his
jeans undone, Tristan slipped out of them easily. Josie smiled at the revelation that
he wore nothing beneath them.

Again, he lowered himself down onto her, but this time the feeling was quite different.
Hot flesh against hot flesh and worshipping hands made them each feel as if time had
stopped. Josie vowed to keep her eyes open, not wanting to miss a second of his loving,
lustful face.

Tristan placed his lips on her body, sucking and biting until she was a hopeless mess.
He slid his hand into hers to hold his weight. Josie treasured the feeling of being
pinned beneath him, being held down by not only his body but also his affection. She’d
never wanted to belong to anyone until this moment.

Josie watched in fascination as his brow furrowed and his eyes fluttered when he finally
slid inside her. She felt her body stretch to welcome him and wanted to commit the
feeling to memory. Once fully joined, he stilled and placed a sugary, chaste kiss
against her lips.

“Perfect,” Tristan whispered.

He began a steady rhythm, a greedy pace set by his body and not his will. Sex had
always been good for him, easy and pleasurable. But it had never been this. This was
unexplainable and foreign. It was the rejoining of two lost souls to make each other
whole again, immeasurable love.

“Tell me again,” she whispered.

Knowing exactly what she wanted, Tristan whispered the three words that gave her the
only strength she had.

“I love you.”

His declaration sent her hurling over the edge. A fiery orgasm ripped through Josie,
every muscle unyielding and taut as she chanted his name. She felt drunk and dazed
and completely addicted.

Tristan groaned at the sight before him, her eyes squeezed tight, her lips parted
in a silent scream. He’d never seen anything more stunning.

Josie hated that those three tiny words could invoke so much joy and so much fear
inside her heart. As much as she felt that it might be true, she could not find the
strength to reaffirm their more-than-physical connection. Instead, she kept with what
was familiar to her.

“Oh God! So good, Tristan.”

Josie knew her words were harsh and unromantic, but they were easy. She couldn’t offer
him the same profession that he’d given her, so she stayed true to the wild desire
between the two of them. Tiny whimpers escaped Tristan’s lips with his climax, his
own erotic melody.

Tristan rolled them over and wrapped his arms around her. Slowly, their breaths became
slower, their pulses calmed. Bathed in the glow of lunar beams, they fell into a deep
slumber surrounded by the pencil-sketched faces of their past.

*   *   *

The next morning, in the Clairemont neighborhood, swimming in their own postcoital
glow, Monica and Rob exchanged their own confessions.

“It seems soon, but I just know that you’re it for me,” Monica said, tracing the light
trail of hair leading from his belly to the waistband of his boxers.

“It’s the same for me. I love you like biscuits and gravy.”

“Ha. You better really love biscuits and gravy,” she teased.

“Of course, ma’am.”

“Seems like some people wait for love their whole lives. Some people never expect
to find it. How did two people like us happen across each other? Destiny or a higher
power maybe,” Monica said, her voice trailing off.

Rob nodded, silenced by her ideas of destiny and otherworldly forces responsible for
their union. He believed in no such thing. Still, he pulled Monica in close and kissed
the top of her head. He wouldn’t question her ideals. All he knew was that he wanted
her to be happy and he would do anything in his power to make that happen.

Later that afternoon, when they had rehydrated and fed themselves, the couple ventured
out to Balboa Park. Rob lay in the grass with his jacket folded beneath his head.
In the warm light of the late-day sun, he hummed as Monica ran her fingers through
his hair. They watched children play and dogs chase after them. Couples walked hand
in hand, enjoying each other and the impossibly beautiful weather. When massive jets
swept over, they would raise their faces to the sky to enjoy the roar of the engines
and the momentary eclipse created by their shadows.

They talked about love and life and changes to come, planning their future as if it
were guaranteed. Rob admitted to never being in love before. While Monica couldn’t
admit the same, she was sure that it had never felt quite like this. Rob complained
about the unrealistic expectations of his job and his fears of failure. So much responsibility
sat on his shoulders and the weight of it felt crushing at times. Monica admitted
that, though demanding, she loved her job.

“It’s so fulfilling,” she confessed. “I mean, these kids, who have been abandoned
in some form or another, have no one to look out for them. That’s where I come in.
It’s my job to make sure that they’re safe. I want them to have a fair chance to reach
their potential.”

“Yeah, but don’t you get tired of taking responsibility for other people’s children?
Don’t you just wish parents would be parents?”

“I do wish people would be accountable for their children, but I feel a responsibility
to help,” Monica answered.

For her, it was simple. She was capable of helping, so she did.

“When I was younger, I thought I could save them all. I was stupid. I made mistakes
that were covered up by my superiors, swept under the rug with a slight slap on the
wrist. It makes me sick now to think of me getting off so easy when this innocent
girl paid the price.”

Monica felt tears prick at her eyes. She blinked quickly, willing them away.

“What happened? Is she…?” Rob inquired but couldn’t finish the thought.

Monica shook her head. “She’d had a really rough life already. She lost both of her
parents, then she was shipped cross-country. She was only my third assignment. I placed
her in a foster home with this couple who seemed perfect. They had a safe home and
full-time jobs and an older son who was about to leave for college. They wanted to
offer their home to a teenage girl. I put her there. I did that to her.”

The tears rolled down her cheeks now, and she didn’t care to stop them.

“It’s okay,” Rob whispered, clutching her hand in his and running his thumb back and
forth in a sweeping motion.

“It’s not okay. They did horrible things to her, Rob, things that you can’t even imagine.
It was my fault for not seeing through their lies. It was my fault.”

This had been the subject of nightmares, the cause of therapy, a never-ending black
cloud looming over her. No matter what, Monica could not let go of the guilt and shame
associated with Josie Banks.

“Can you imagine being responsible for something so horrible?”

“It’s not your fault those people were terrible.”

“It’s my fault she had to live with them, my fault that she was too scared to tell
me the truth about them. She’s twenty-two years old now. She uses drugs and sex and
God knows what else to avoid having any real relationships. She’s so damn talented,
an artist. I check in on her, always trying to guide her toward a better life, to
save her from herself. Josie doesn’t want to be saved, though. I guess I’m just being
selfish. Because if she turned out okay, that would mean I didn’t fail.”

She broke down again, this time losing all control. She sobbed against his shoulder,
painting his shirt in misshapen circles of salt water. Monica clutched his arm, needing
to feel and consume his strength. She sighed when she felt his hand rub comforting
circles on her back. The feel of Rob’s love made it easier to manage.

“Darlin’, you did what you could. I’m sure she knows you didn’t intend for any of
that to happen.”

Monica swiped at her eyes and took a deep, cleansing breath. She forced a smile down
at Rob’s worried face, regretting burdening him with such tragedy.

“I know. I do. I just want her to be happy. I almost feel guiltier now that I’ve found
you.”

“Monica?” a deep voice called from a few feet away.

She looked up to find her coffee beau, Evan, standing there. She forced a smile and
glanced around, trying to figure out where he had come from. Feeling vulnerable, she
wondered if he’d overheard any of their conversation. Rob sat up quickly but remained
relaxed as Evan approached.

“Hi, Evan. Fancy seeing you here,” she said, shielding her eyes from the sun so that
she could look up at him.

“Yeah, I was heading to the museum with some friends when I spotted you. You’re looking
much better than the last time I saw you.”

Both Monica and Rob looked around for his friends but found no one waiting.

“Yeah, a day off will do that,” she said. “Oh, Evan, this is Rob. Rob, this is Evan.”

Evan stepped closer, enjoying how he towered over the seated man. He offered his hand
in a gesture of forced politeness. It would gain him points with Monica if he remained
casually friendly to the boyfriend. Rob gripped his hand and Evan almost grunted from
the force of his hold. The corded muscles and tendons of Rob’s forearm were evident
as he kept his expression indifferent and his hand crushing Evan’s.

Rob nodded and released his grip from the would-be suitor, hoping that his warning
was clear.
She’s mine.

“Evan knocked me on my ass the other day in the rain. He bought me coffee to make
up for it,” Monica offered, completely unaware of what had just transpired between
the two men.

“Did he?” Rob asked.

“It was the least I could do,” Evan acknowledged. He looked around, wringing his hands
together before turning back to address the couple. “Well, I’d better get going. It
was good to see you again, Monica. Rob, nice meeting you.”

“Likewise,” Rob spat at his retreating form.

When he was out of sight, Monica turned to Rob only to find his gaze still trained
to the empty space where Evan had been. His blue eyes were slits and his face was
contorted into a menacing scowl.

“Rob? He’s gone, you can stop crushing my hand now.”

Rob snapped out of his jealous daze and released her hand. She smiled at him and shook
out her fingers, exaggerating the pain just a bit.

“That guy’s a douche bag.”

“Aww, sweetie, you’re jealous,” she teased. “That’s so cute.”

“No, I’m not,” he denied.

Monica straddled his lap and kissed him on his forehead, then his nose, then his lips.

“Yes, you are, but it’s adorable. The green-eyed monster suits you.”

“You could have introduced me as your boyfriend, you know.”

“Is that what you are?”

Rob shrugged, suddenly aware of their unidentified relationship.

“Boyfriend seems so juvenile. You can be my partner, my lover, my special guy,” she
sang in a dramatic declaration.

Rob chuckled, letting his anger slip away.

“Regardless, I don’t like Khaki Pants Church Clothes Evan. I want you to stay away
from him.”

Monica laughed and placed more distracting kisses on his face along his hairline.
She combed her fingers through his hair and gave him an obedient smile.

“He’s nobody. I’ll never lay eyes on him again,” she promised, though she couldn’t
know how far from the truth that statement would prove to be.

*   *   *

Tristan lay awake for nearly an hour, holding Josie close and memorizing her sleeping
face. When she began to stir, he placed a kiss on top of her hair and inhaled. He
found her intoxicating.

“Good morning,” he whispered, his lips still pressed into her hair.

Josie hummed in response and squeezed him closer. Perfect, she thought, everything
is perfect. She marveled at how soundly she’d slept and how utterly content she felt.

“REM sleep usually only accounts for twenty-five percent of our sleep, but with you
it seems much higher. Do you remember your dreams?”

“I used to just see all those faces, yours, my parents’, but now I don’t remember
anything. I bet they’re mostly about you.”

“I hope so,” he answered, running his hand down the curve of her spine. “Josie?”

“Yeah?”

“Didn’t you ever want to know about your life before amnesia?”

“I would sometimes think that I wanted to know, but I was too scared to face it. I
thought, what if it’s worse than what I
do
remember? I was happy to leave it alone. That way I could imagine it was a good life.”

“It was a good life,” he confirmed.

“Thanks to you, I know that now,” she answered, smiling.

“When we were thirteen, you forced me to go see the movie
A Knight’s Tale.
You were obsessed with Heath Ledger. I begged you to go see
Joe Dirt.
I couldn’t stand the thought of sitting in that theater for two hours while you sighed
and drooled over that guy.”